


Bad Memories

by Hayenga



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Developing Relationship, Implied/Referenced Abuse, Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, John Watson's Aunt - Freeform, John Watson's Father - Freeform, John Watson's Father is Terrible, Let's be real Im a bit of a dumpster fire, M/M, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Rating May Change, Sherlock Holmes worries, Tags Are Hard, Tags May Change, updates when I can
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-03-17
Updated: 2021-03-17
Packaged: 2021-03-26 01:34:02
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,336
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30098256
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hayenga/pseuds/Hayenga
Summary: John Watson has never been one to speak about his family. Sherlock is in for a rough surprise when John's father goes missing. There is more to John's past then what he's let on, and Sherlock isn't sure where to start.Will John open up to him about his childhood and anger at his father? Can Sherlock take care of John the way he needs?
Relationships: Sherlock Holmes/John Watson
Comments: 6
Kudos: 9





	Bad Memories

“You look just like your father!” 

John hated when people would tell him that he was anything like that man. He prided himself in ensuring that he was nothing like his father. He wanted nothing to do with him. He never wanted to be associated to him in any way. Even changed his last name as soon as he was old enough, just to get away from the family and the father he didn’t want anything do with. 

“That’s so wonderful.” 

John clenched his jaw down tight. The click his teeth made as they slid together too tightly was enough to make his long-lost aunt chuckle endearingly at him. 

“He did that too, when he got agitated.” His aunt smiled. 

“Why are you here?” John snapped a little too quickly staring at the woman in front of him. “I haven’t seen you in fifteen years, what do you want?”

“Can’t I just come in and talk?” 

“No, not a chance.” He snapped again and stiffened up at the hand on the back of his shoulder as Sherlock appeared in the doorway. 

“Breathe, John.” Sherlock said softly as he stopped and stood just behind him, “Who do we have here?”

“No one important. She was just leaving.” John growled out turning to grab the door and began shutting it.

“Oh John, please wait!” His aunt hollered. “Please, I need your help.” 

Sherlock sighed a bit and stopped the door from slamming shut, “John why don’t we just hear her out. It could be a case.” He frowned at the shorter man. 

John’s jaw clicked again and he threw his hands up in surrender, “Fine, but I want nothing to do with her. This is all yours. And yours alone.” He hissed and stalked his way upstairs. 

“So sorry ma’am, please come in.” Sherlock smiled a bit and stepped to the side letting the strange woman in, “Just straight up the stairs.” He said pointing in the direction John just disappeared.

By the time they made it up the stairs John was in the kitchen. He slammed a cupboard door upon them entering the room. His mouth set in a straight line causing the appearance at first glance that his anger was getting the better of him, but his eyes betrayed that. They were like glass, threatening to break any second and spill down his cheeks. Sherlock had never seen him like this before. So easily affected by the mere sight of someone standing in their doorway. John never spoke of his family and Sherlock never asked. Not because he wasn’t curious, but because anytime John mentioned even a single member of his family, he got that glass like appearance to his eyes. Whatever memory that caused that look, Sherlock wasn’t about to force John to relive it. 

Sherlock directed the woman to the living room as he eyed John slightly. He wasn’t sure how to approach the other man when he was like this. Sherlock was never good at this sort of thing, and much to his dismay he could never comfort John properly when he needed it the most. 

“John.” Sherlock said softly walking around the small table between them. 

“Don’t.” John tensed, his whole body going ridged. 

“John, please.” Sherlock stopped and reached out to touch his shoulder. 

John’s next move was quick, the sting of his hand connecting to Sherlock’s wrist was all Sherlock needed to take a step back. “God damn it Sherlock, I said don’t!” 

At that John pushed his way past Sherlock and made his way to the bedroom in the back. He didn’t care if it wasn’t his room he just needed to get away. Away from Sherlock’s worried gaze, and away from the memories that rose up in him from the mere sight of his aunt. He slammed the door shut and slid down to the floor. He sat and listened to Sherlock’s footsteps draw near, just to stop a couple feet from the door. He held his breath waiting for them to get closer and for the other man to shove his way into the room but that didn’t happen. 

***

Sherlock hesitated where he was standing for a few seconds before he turned and walked to the living room. He sat in his chair and frowned staring at his bedroom door for a few seconds before turning his attention to his possible new client. 

“Tell me, quickly, why you’re here and why I shouldn’t do as John asks and make you leave?” Sherlock shifted in his seat.

“Well its John’s father… My brother. He’s missing.” The woman frowned slightly before turning to rummage through her purse, “He’s never been one to just up and leave. I’m worried something’s happened to him.”

“And why would you be worried about something like that?” 

“My brother was never very good with people. Most just tried to stay clear of him, and over the year’s he too has stayed out of peoples way.” 

Sherlock hummed a bit as he listened. He’d never heard John talk about his father or his family outside of Harry, even then he was never open about her either. It was obvious to Sherlock, however, that John had experienced some sort of trauma when he was young. He was very sure that much of that had to do with the family that he never spoke of, but Sherlock wasn’t entirely clear on what sort of trauma it could have been. 

“Then why do you expect he’s missing? How often do you see him?” 

“Oh, every day.” The woman said with a sigh, “He lives with me. He hasn’t been home in a few days and I’m getting worried.” 

“Have you called the police?” Sherlock frowned, leaning forward in his chair. 

“I have, but they haven’t been of any help in finding him.” She stated standing and handing him a small photograph she pulled from her purse, “That’s him, John’s father. Johnathan Hamish Campbell, Senior.” 

Sherlock’s brow knit together in confusion before taking the picture. He looked at it briefly comparing the man in the photo to the man sitting in his bedroom. They were without a doubt father and son. They shared the same dusty blond hair and squared jaw line, as well as sporting similar muscular structure throughout their bodies. The clear blue of their irises was the very finishing piece, and it all made it undeniable that John looked identical to his father. 

“So why, if I may ask, were the police unwilling to help?” 

“Because he’s an abusive alcoholic who disappears on binges frequently.” John hissed from the doorway of the kitchen. 

Sherlock’s gaze snapped up to the other man and he frowned, he hadn’t even heard the door to his room open let alone John’s footsteps as he grew closer, “Is that so?” He pursed his lips just slightly. 

“He’s in the program John, he’s a better man these days.” His aunt stated standing from where she was once again seated on the couch.

“He was in the program at least five times in my childhood, that I know of, Mavis.” John snapped out, a slight tremor going through his shoulders as he spoke. “And none of that lasted or seemed to curb his rage even without a drink in his hand.” 

“He’s getting help for his anger too.” Mavis frowned her disapproval at him.

“Well that would be something wouldn’t it?” John frowned back, crossing his arms tightly over his chest. 

Sherlock ran a hand through his hair and inhaled sharply before standing and stepping forward towards John, “How about we take a break,” He said looking at Mavis, “Leave your number and where you’re staying and we will be in touch.” 

“You. You’ll be in touch.” John hissed out through gritted teeth. 

“Yes, I. I will be in touch.” Sherlock sighed walking over to Mavis to hand her the photo back. 

“Keep it.” She stated pulling out a business card and writing some information on the back before handing it to Sherlock. “I’ll be waiting your call. Thank you.” She stated frustrated before turning towards the stairs. She hesitated and looked at John with pleading eyes, “He’s a good man John, you know that. Just give him a chance.” She finished, and before John could even answer her, she had made her way down the stairs and out the door. 

John continued to stand in the doorway of the kitchen and clenched his jaw down tight. His eyes were like glass again, and his body was so ridged it looked as if one wrong move would break him into a million pieces. 

“John.” Sherlock practically whispered as he stepped towards the other man, and pocketed the photograph. 

“I want nothing to do with this, Sherlock.” John stated as he turned away from Sherlock ready to retreat into the darkness of his roommate’s bedroom, “He could be lying dead in a ditch for all I care, whatever trouble he’s got himself into…he had coming to him.” John finished clearing his throat. 

If Sherlock wasn’t looking at him in that very moment, he wouldn’t have caught the heave in John’s shoulders. Nor would he have understood why there was a tremor in his voice as he spoke. He watched as John rubbed one eye with a fisted hand and began walking back towards the bedroom he’d only just emerged from. Sherlock hated that he didn’t possess the necessary tools to console John when he was in this sort of state. When his emotions were all warring within him, and threatening to tear him apart. But, even with the lack of emotional knowledge, Sherlock never ceased to try to care for John. Sherlock crossed the kitchen as quickly as he could before John got too far from him. He grabbed John’s wrist lightly tugging him off balance and spinning him in towards his own body, until they were fitted together with John snug against Sherlock’s chest. 

“What are you doing?” John asked, his arms hanging limply at his sides.

“I understand hugging is the proper way of comforting a loved one. It releases a hormone called oxytocin that helps relax a person and helps lower stress, and the blood pressure as well as creating a posi-“ 

“Sherlock,” John couldn’t help but let out a soft laugh, “I know what oxytocin is and what it does for the body.” He laughed a little more before wrapping his arms around Sherlock’s middle, “I meant, why are you hugging me?”

“For comfort, John.” Sherlock stated as if it were obvious. 

They stood in the middle of the kitchen briefly before either one of them said another word. Sherlock was the first to speak and his voice was quiet, muffled slightly by the top of John’s head, “I know you don’t like to discuss your family but, if ever there was a time for me to better understand, now would be it.” He stated, subconsciously tangling his fingers in the hair at the base of John’s neck.  
John took his time to reply, his arms tightening slight as he spoke, “My family… it’s a mess, Sherlock.” He sighed stepping back and releasing his grasp on the other man, “I didn’t have a good childhood like you did.”  
“I hardly had a good childhood.” Sherlock pursed his lips.

“Yes, you did. You had loving parents that encouraged you and Mycroft to be whatever and whoever it is that you wanted to be.” John walked around him, “They praised you, they…loved you. You didn’t have to worry about coming home to an absent mother and a drunken father.” John growled as he walked over and sat down in his chair. 

Sherlock followed him out to the living room and sat across from John in his own chair. He studied the other man, his best friend, and wondered how much more he was willing to tell him. “John,” Sherlock began quietly, “You said he was abusive…”

John nodded softly and sat back, his face hardening in thought. “It’s why Harry drinks so much. For a long time, she took the brunt of it. I was too young, too small, too weak.” John bit off his words like they burned his tongue. “I was barely four when mum left, Harry was eight. I suppose she was tired of dealing with him, my father.” John’s gaze had settled on a space over Sherlock’s shoulder, he’d never opened up about his family to anyone, not even his therapist and he knew that if he even looked the other man in the eye he would break. “By the time I was ten I took all of the beatings… I refused to let Harry take anymore. She was already so damaged I couldn’t stand watching it.” He drew in a long breath, “When Harry turned eighteen, she left, and I went with her. I was already a prospect for the military and I only had a couple years left in school. I did everything I could to finish early and worked as much as I could before I got sent away for training. Harriet had already been drinking heavily before then, and I honestly couldn’t blame her when she continued. And I couldn’t rightly leave her on her own without something to get her by.” 

Sherlock stayed quiet as long as John spoke. He leaned forward resting his elbows on his knees as he listened intently. Things finally fell into place, he understood the trauma his friend had gone through as a child, and it spoke worlds as to why John held himself in such a stoic manner all the time. He understood why John never spoke of his family and why he rarely spoke of Harriet. Sherlock could tell John saw her alcoholism as his own fault. The devastation in his eyes as he spoke about her drinking, as if he could have stopped it, as if he took the beatings sooner, she wouldn’t have fallen into the vice their father struggled with. 

“John,” Sherlock’s voice was soft, “I’m so sorry. I had no idea.” He said and slid forward in his chair so he was close enough to grab the other man’s hand from his knee. “I don’t have to take this case. I can give it so someone else, tell Lestrade to do something about it.” 

John shook his head, “No, it wouldn’t be right to pass it off to them without anything other than a missing drunk.” He sighed and squeezed Sherlock’s hand, “But we treat this like any other case, not as a family member looking for help. Just as some stranger and her brother.” 

Sherlock nodded, a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth, “We?” He said slightly amused.

“Of course, ‘we’, I wouldn’t let you handle a case on your own.” He stated mirroring Sherlock’s amused smile. 

Sherlock’s smile faded slowly after a few seconds, before he turned his full gaze on John, “You tell me if this gets to be too much, too hard. You can walk away.” 

John nodded his agreement in silence and watched Sherlock slide back into his chair, their hands falling from one another before settling at their sides. John sat staring at his lap thinking intently about the things he just revealed to Sherlock, and Sherlock sat studying John’s face. He couldn’t help but feel there was something else his friend wasn’t telling him. He shifted his feet slightly and knocked his right foot against John’s left. This drew John’s attention and he looked up from his lap at the other man. 

“What?” John asked, a puzzled look on his face.

“You changed your name…?” Sherlock asked already knowing the answer. 

John nodded slightly before sighing, “Just my last.”

“And the suffix…. Junior.” Sherlock said as he fished the photo from his pocket. “It’s entirely understandable. Wanting to distance yourself from someone like him… someone so similar in appearance.” He stated studying the photograph. 

John pursed his lips and shifted again, “I’m nothing like him.” 

“I know you aren’t, John.” Sherlock sighed, “Where did you get the name Watson?” 

“It’s my mother’s maiden name.” John stated as he stood from his seat. “Not that it matters, I still have no idea where she ran off to.” He crossed his arms over his chest insecurely before turning towards the kitchen, “Tea?” He asked.

“Love some.” Sherlock sat back and watched his roommate. “Have you ever wanted to find her?” 

John shook his head slightly before filling the kettle and placing it on the stove, “She left us, as far as I’m concerned, she wants nothing to do with us. Nor I with her.” He fell silent, reaching up to grab the mugs from the cupboard. He refused to look at Sherlock when he finally started moving in the living room, he couldn’t stand the look of pity most people had given him over the years after his mother took off. He wasn’t about to endure it again, and not from Sherlock. 

John had been concentrating so hard on trying to reach the second mug, he hadn’t heard the other man enter the kitchen. He wasn’t aware of his presence until there was a soft hand on his lower back. Sherlock had gracefully fitted himself in next to John’s side, with his left hand on his lower back and his right hand reaching up to grab the mug John had been struggling to get. John sighed and settled his feet onto the floor. He was grateful to have a roommate that could reach the back of the cupboards he couldn’t, but sometimes Sherlock didn’t understand the idea of personal space. Like this very moment, there was no space between their sides and Sherlock’s hand had slid carefully around John’s waist. 

It wasn’t an unusual position for the two of them, it was one of the reasons Mrs. Hudson so often felt inclined to make comments on their relationship. It also wasn’t something that bothered John. Though, he’d never let on how much he appreciated the steady hand on his side when his world had turned upside down, as it did at the mention of his father. 

“Thanks.” John said quietly as he pulled away from Sherlock’s embrace to grab the milk. 

Sherlock hummed his reply just as softly and went about fishing the tea from the back of the cupboard, John’s favorite when he’s feeling anxious. 

They moved silently about the kitchen, in a synchronized way that they had perfected over the time since they moved in together. John poured the perfect amount of milk into one mug, then added two spoonfuls of sugar into the other. While John was busy with the tea Sherlock rummaged the cupboards for some biscuits. John turned his head to peer at his roommate when he heard Sherlock hum his delight upon retrieving them. 

“Chocolate.” Sherlock said as he opened the box. 

“Yes, I know. I just got them yesterday.” John chuckled as he finished making their tea. 

He knew they were Sherlock’s favorite. Mrs. Hudson, and even Lestrade, had made it a priority to ensure John knew that after he moved in to 221B. He quickly understood why. It was practically the only thing John could get Sherlock to eat when he was deep into a case. Occasionally he could trick Sherlock into eating something more substantial. However, most of the time Sherlock would mumble about unnecessary transport and ignore John’s insistence. Biscuits, on the other hand, were never rejected or sneered at by his roommate at any point no matter what they were doing. 

Once the tea was ready and the biscuits on a plate, they both made their way back to the living room. Sitting across from each other in their respective chairs, they sipped their tea and Sherlock nibbled on a biscuit. They sat quietly together, Sherlock studying John, and John lost in his own memories. The conclusion came to them both without any words said… 

This was going to be a struggle.


End file.
